


It-telkhel and the Gentlehobbit

by Triskellion



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3273062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triskellion/pseuds/Triskellion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the years since Bilbo returned to the Shire, it was not unusual for him to find a dwarf on his doorstep. It was not common either, but a few times a year he would hear a knock louder than usual and find a dwarf or two standing outside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this is going. It could end here, and it could go on in spurts through the War of the Ring. Either way, I hope everyone has fun.

In the years since Bilbo returned to the Shire, it was not unusual for him to find a dwarf on his doorstep. It was not common either, but a few times a year he would hear a knock louder than usual and find a dwarf or two standing outside. Messengers, strangers from the Blue Mountains would stop by when caravans headed for the Lonely Mountain and pick up letters written for friends far away. Other strangers, and rarely friends, would pause on the journey to the Blue Mountains with letters and greetings from the Company Bilbo had left behind. The hobbits of Hobbiton slowly acclimatized to seeing a dwarf or three wander through town four or five times a year, always on the road to Bag End. 

Sometimes they left the same day. Other times they remained for a few days, and the shop keepers knew to send up a good pantry full of fresh food to keep Mr. Baggins’ guests well fed. There was rarely warning, but as the Master of Bag End was even more generous with his wealth since his return from adventuring, no one complained.

However, Bilbo was not expecting dwarves that day. It was too late in the season, winter nipping at everyone’s heels even if it hadn’t sunk its teeth into the Shire just yet. A journey to Ereborn would be suicide and the trek to the Blue Mountains misery. When a loud knock came on the door as Bilbo was tucking into dessert, he was more than a little surprised and rather worried. Most hobbits were sensible enough to stay out of the cold on an evening like that, and only an emergency could draw them to his door. So he was relieved enough to find a lone dwarf on his dark doorstep that he could be excused for not noting just whom it was right off.

That, and he’d been rather under the impression that Thorin Oakensheild, son of Thrain, son of Thror, was dead.

“Come in, come in,” Bilbo cried the moment he noticed a beard. “It’s far too cold to stand on the stoop. I’ve finished supper, but I’ve some lovely cold ham and some fresh bread. Come in and eat.”

Bilbo noted the dwarf must have known him, or of him, because he shed his boots with his pack in the entryway and shuffled to the dining room with no wrong turns. It wasn’t until he’d cheerfully asked if his guest would prefer tea or ale on the way into the kitchen that the face of his guest finally sunk in. A muffled squeak left him, and he peered back through the doorway, but yes, that was Thorin at the dining table, looking as travel weary as Bilbo had ever seen him.

And broken.

Yes, broken in some deep, indefinable way. Well, that wouldn’t do. Bilbo smiled and set platters on the table, urging Thorin to eat without ever calling him by name. While the water for tea boiled, Bilbo snuck down the hall to the second bathroom he’d had installed after he returned from distant lands and stoked the fire under the bath water. The tub was a wonder of the Shire, bigger than any hobbit could make sense of unless you were bathing a whole family. But it would fit a dwarf quite well, and a man in a pinch, which had been Bilbo’s goal.

In fact, Bilbo had added quite a few rooms to Bag End when he returned. The first few months had been spent retrieving his belongings from various relations (the Sackville-Bagginses specifically), but after that was done, he’d turned to construction. Six new guest rooms wound into the depths of the hill, each with a bed big enough for a dwarf (one big enough for Bombur should he ever visit), and one fine bathroom with a large tub and a means of filling it with hot water.

When Bilbo returned to the dining room, the table was only half empty (including his dessert, blast it), and Thorin was looking blankly at the walls.

“Still hungry?” Bilbo prompted, setting the tea service on the table and serving himself a cup. He slid a larger cup between Thorin’s cupped hands and watched dirt-engrained, calloused fingers twitch as they absorbed the warmth.

“No,” Thorin growled, his voice hoarse, as though he were ill or had not used words in some time.

“Well, drink your tea. The water won’t be hot for another fifteen or twenty minutes. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have prepared it before dinner.”

Thorin looked confused, eyes glancing between Bilbo and the hot cup of water in his hands.

“The bath, silly dwarf. You look done in, but I’m not putting you anywhere near my clean linins until you’re clean as well.”

That garnered the faintest hint of a smile under Thorin’s beard. It was longer than Bilbo had ever seen it, the black more deeply dappled with silver, and yet still not as long as the hobbit thought it should have been. There wasn’t enough length even for Fili’s mustache braids. It had been five long years since Bilbo had left Erebor, and surely dwarf beards grew at least half as fast as hobbit hair. Thorin should have had a thick mane on his chin. He’d sworn he’d stop shoring it once he reclaimed his homeland. A short beard was a sign of great grief.

But meeting Thorin’s eyes, Bilbo knew the King under the Mountain still grieved. For those lost to Smaug. For those lost in the battle that followed his madness. For his sister-son and heir.

Poor Fili. If he had lived after being stabbed and dropped from the tower, there had not been enough life in him to last until the Eagles came. Where elvish medicine had managed to bring Kili and Thorin back from the brink, nothing could be done for one already gone to the halls of Mahal. 

Not another word was spoken that night, not as Bilbo escorted Thorin to the bath or pointed out the guest room with the finest bed. Little was even said over breakfast the next morning. But when Bilbo set out to Hobbiton to stock up his larder, Thorin followed like a gray shadow at his shoulder. The dwarf stayed silent but nodded politely at all greetings and allowed himself to become a pack animal.

The next day he set to repairing small problems about Bag End. A hinge that squeaked, a loose handle on a pot. The day after he took to carving, and one by one the other beds of Bag End were ending up as finely carved as the one Bilbo’s father had commissioned from the best wood carver in Tookborough. 

Slowly, Thorin ate more and stared less. Gradually words began to trickle from between his lips, though they never poured. Bilbo began to fill the silences with chatter. Gossip about the Shire. Tidbits from his letters from Erebor. Occasionally even bits from letters from Rivendell. That brought up a bit of scoffing, but anything that got a reaction from Thorin seemed fair game.

The turning point came the evening after Bag End was inundated with relations for tea. Most had kept their distance since the dwarf had arrived, but curiosity finally drew them, especially since the weather had been fine and warm enough for a bit of walking. The smial rang with laughter and the patter of little hobbit feet as at least half the youth of the neighborhood had invaded at one point or another.

And Thorin had laughed.

The glowering figure that had haunted Hobbiton for weeks became a giddy friend, a portable climbing mountain, a story teller. The little hobbits all found a new friend, and Thorin seemed to find a new lease on life. And if his eyes were a bit sad as two cousins pulled prank after prank, well, it was still more a sign of life than Bilbo had seen since Fili was returned to stone.

After dinner, as they sat by the fire with pipes as had become their wont, Thorin spoke.

“You have been far too kind since I appeared on your doorstep.”

Bilbo scoffed. “I’d do the same for any of my friends, hobbit or otherwise.”

“Perhaps… I’ve considered coming here for many years. I did not expect such a kindly welcome.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Bilbo spat, the minor frustration and curiosity that had haunted him since Thorin appeared finally spilling over. 

“I hung you from the battlements and called you traitor.”

“I forgave you long ago. You are my friend and always will be.”

Thorin dropped his head, hands clasped about his pipe in his lap, and chuckled. “Somehow you always manage to surprise me, Burglar. Even when I thought nothing could anymore.”

“There are many wonders left in the world, my king.”

“No, I am king no more.”

Bilbo nodded, slotting more into place. He had reviewed his letters time and again, but the earliest had not changed. Quite clearly it had been announced that Thorin Oakenshield had died of his wounds the winter following the Battle of the Five Armies. 

“You have been quite patient with me.”

“Well, I had to prove myself better than you at something.”

Thorin let out a bark of laughter before settling down to a wide grin. “I had expected to be questioned that first night. I think I was ready to run until you showed me that bath.”

“I should have barred the door. I don’t think you would have made it far, tired as you were.”

“No, not far.” The smile faded.

“I have been quite patient. But… Thorin, I never expected to find you on my stoop. Balin wrote…”

“That I was dead.”

Bilbo nodded.

Thorin rolled his shoulders under his shirt and puffed at his pipe. “Yes. As I asked them to. I never intended…”

“Don’t you dare stop there. I have been patient, but no longer.”

“The winter after you left was hard. We had few supplies and more wounded than we could tend. Deals were made with men and elves…” Thorin frowned, but continued before Bilbo could chide him. “Still. Well… I found I made a poor king in times of peace.”

“I’m sure—”

“No, let me be honest about my faults now even if I could not be before. The gold-sickness still pulled at me, and there was so much that needed doing. We struggled to shelter those who remained, to feed them, to heal them. Without Dain we would have been lost… And Kili…”

“How is he? No one has replied to my questions save to say he survived.”

“I doubt they know. In the depths of winter, when I still did not know if I would live, Kili came to me and begged me not to make him heir. He could not bear it… not without…”

“Fili.”

“Yes. I think… I think Kili could have been a great king. But under other circumstances.”

“I think you could have been a great king,” Bilbo said, catching Thorin’s hand in his.

“Had Smaug not come, had I not endured all I did… yes, I might have been a great king.” Thorin smiled wryly. “In battle I was a decent leader.”

“Suicidal idiot, more like.”

“Sometimes.”

Bilbo jerked at that acknowledgement, but before he could retreat, Thorin’s hand caught his and twined their fingers together.

“Kili couldn’t face the throne without Fili, and I realized that neither could I. I had done it for them, for the next generation, in my heart of hearts.”

“A good motivation.”

“Perhaps the best… but broken when the motivator is lost. I announced that if I died before Kili reached one hundred years of age, Dain was my heir. And with Kili’s permission, I let it be known that Thorin Oakenshield died of his wounds in the winter.”

“How did you hide the truth?”

“I left. Kili still suffered, though I question whether his wounds were more of the spirit than body. His she-elf suggested Rivendell, and I disguised myself and joined the troop that escorted them.”

“Have you been back? I didn’t even know Kili was in Rivendell.”

Thorin shook his head. “I left them before we entered the valley. I couldn’t…”

Bilbo tightened his grip. “And since?”

“I’ve wandered. A capable smith is still welcome in the villages of men, if only for a short time.”

“And now?”

“I do not wish to impose, but I admit I’ve no desire to find other shelter for the winter.”

“Certainly not,” Bilbo snapped.

Thorin jerked back, tried to pull his hand away. “I’m sorry. I’ll pack and be off in the mo—”

“You’ll do no such thing. As if I’d turn a friend away in the winter.” Bilbo scoffed and stepped before Thorin’s chair, the fire warming the backs of his heels. “You’ll stay until spring at least.”

“I took little from Erebor.” Thorin looked appallingly mulish. “I can little afford—”

“I took more than I could carry from Erebor, and raided the troll stash on the way back. And I was a well off gentlehobbit well before you dwarrow dragged me off on an adventure. I can afford to put up one dwarf for the winter. Or even the rest of your life.” Bilbo caught Thorin’s hairy chin and lifted against the resistance until blue eyes stared out into the firelight. “Stay, Thorin of the dwarves. Stay as long as you like, or as short. But do not let guilt and old grief drive you away.” They stared at each other for a long moment, and a trickle of unexpected desire ran down Bilbo’s spine. He smiled to break the moment. “Besides, I am making ginger cake for tea tomorrow.”

Thorin smiled back. “You do know how to tempt a dwarf, Master Burglar. I will stay. At least through tea tomorrow.”

~o0o~

Thorin did stay. Through tea. And the winter. On into spring. He took up work in Hobbiton that summer, building a smithy to be proud of out of the remains of the forge left by the last hobbit to try metal work a generation ago. Hobbits started coming from East Farthing for gear, and come autumn the Longbottom farmers sent for a new supply of harvesting sickles. Even using the steel available (which he cursed more than once), Thorin created superior equipment to anything hobbit or man forged.

Thorin didn’t much interact with the dwarrow that came though, though one or two took another, questioning look at the dwarf in the shadows of Bag End when they accepted invitations for tea, or supper, or even the night. Still, no one said anything, and Thorin was not driven away by the attention.

When Bilbo got wandering feet in the summer and decided to take a walking holiday to visit more distant relations, he talked Thorin into coming along. It was quickly realized by all and sundry that, while taciturn and quiet with adults, Bilbo’s friend could be trusted to handle anything from crying babes to troubled tweens. The Tooks especially adored him.

Winter came again, and Bilbo stocked his larder deeper and fuller than usual. Dwarrow might not admit it as readily as hobbits, but their appetites were prodigious, and Bilbo often felt as though he were helping Thorin make up for all those lost meals after Smaug came. And since that period had lasted more than one hundred fifty years, there were a lot of missed meals to make up for.

Bilbo had no problem with taking the rest of his life to help with that goal.

Years passed, and the two bachelors settled into a comfortable routine. Hobbiton almost seemed to forget there was a local dwarf at all. There were visiting dwarrow and Mr. Bilbo’s friend the smith. And that was that.

It might have remained thus but for the wedding of Drogo Baggins, Bilbo’s cousin on his father’s side, to Primula Brandybuck, Bilbo’s cousin on his mother’s side. It was a fine wedding with cousins from all over the Shire and food enough to feed double (and not a scrap left by dawn). Bilbo smiled and laughed and told the little hobbits snippits of his adventures all night, when Thorin wasn’t telling his versions.

Bilbo didn’t notice any change until they returned to Bag End in days following, and at breakfast he found Thorin’s pack by the door. Packed.

“Wandering feet finally got to you?” Bilbo asked lightly even though a bellow of “Where do you think you’re going?” lingered in his throat.

Thorin looked sheepish and wouldn’t meet Bilbo’s eyes. “I thought I’d get out of your hair. There’s a room above the forge, more than enough space…” He sighed at Bilbo’s glare and deflated into his chair. “You’re a grown hobbit. You should have a family of your own, and I’m more than a little in the way.”

Bilbo crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Have I done anything to make you feel unwelcome in my home?”

“No,” Thorin protested quickly. “But I saw you at the party… There are some lovely ladies out there.”

A snort of laughter escaped Bilbo, and Thorin frowned. “Oh no, don’t give me that look, Thorin. I’m not laughing at you. Well, I am—”

Thorin stood, his expression stony.

“Sit. This is one of those cultural differences again.” There had been a number of those over the years. Bilbo commenting on the change in Thorin’s hairstyle had once led to a near departure and weeks of cold shoulder. But how was Bilbo to know the change had to do with grief and mourning?

Stiffly, Thorin sat. “Explain.”

“You must have missed this bit of basic Hobbit culture. I remember telling Fili and Kili…” Bilbo trailed off, trying to remember just where it had come up. “Ah, I think you were holed up with Gandalf and Lord Elrond at the time. Well, let me explain.”

“Please do.”

“As you’ve noted, hobbits are much for family, and lots of it. However, there are always exceptions. Some of us don’t like children, or don’t like… well… ladies.” Even having explained this before, Bilbo struggled for words. Hobbits grew up with it and just knew. “Confirmed bachelors they call us. Some prefer the company of other confirmed bachelors, others prefer no one at all. We do have the occasional old spinster as well. I believe you may have seen me speaking with Primrose Longbottom?”

Thorin nodded, his brow furrowed.

“We grew up together, and realized our… preferences at much the same time. She’s been living with Petunia Cotton for… oh my, thirty years now. A friend, I assure you, but no romantic interest of mine.”

“I… see.” Thorin looked thoughtful but no longer uncomfortable. He had settled more fully into the dwarf-sized chair as Bilbo had spoken, and now looked quite at home again. “And your preference?”

“Pardon?”

“Ah, I… it is not my…”

“Thorin, just ask.”

“Other bachelors or no one at all?”

Bilbo chuckled. “Oh, it’s been long since I’ve had such company, but I had a hankering for other bachelors for many years. Never found one I’d want to devote my life to though. A few who came calling were all too interested in Bag End, same as any number of ladies.”

“Or your cousins.”

They shared a laugh over the Sackville-Bagginses, who’d made another run for Bag End that summer and found themselves well dismissed by the distain of the (retired) King Under the Mountain.

Things were a touch tense for a bit, but Bilbo didn’t think much of it. He was quite used to Thorin’s prickly demeanor. Odd patches of tension were simply the norm. Bilbo just made ginger cake for tea a bit more often and waited for the whole thing to blow over.

And blow over they did, if not quite in the manner that Bilbo expected. A week or two later, Thorin let out a deep sigh with his pipe smoke and turned to Bilbo before the evening fire.

“I know I have been difficult of late.”

Bilbo protested otherwise.

Thorin chuckled. “No, I know myself better than that. I do beg your pardon, and while I wish I could promise it would not happen again—”

“You know yourself better than that,” Bilbo said in a lilting sing-song.

“That I do.” Thorin smiled, his blue eyes oddly soft in the fire light. “I wonder anew that you did not slam the door in my face when arrived on your doorstep.”

“I only had desire to do that the first time. Never the second.”

“Truly, you are a treasure amongst hobbits.” Thorin sighed again, and his eyes grew distant and troubled. “You have lit in me a fire I never thought to feel kindled again.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No more than I did. Ah, but I come at this all wrong. Not long ago, you told me of hobbits and hobbit ways. Allow me to return the favor.”

“I know of dwarrow” Bilbo had learned much from his friends, but they were a secretive race and he knew there was still much he did not know, much he was not permitted to learn.

“You know we are a hardy race, and that our dams are few.”

Bilbo nodded and puffed thoughtfully on his pipe.

“In a good generation we are lucky if one in three children is a dam. In other generations…”

“After Erebor fell?”

“We lost so many. Our dams and youngest were in the heart of the mountain where escape was impossible. We have never been a fast growing race, and I doubt we will recover our numbers for many centuries.”

“Azanulbizar did not help,” Bilbo muttered, and Thorin scowled though he could not deny it.

“War following a war rarely does. But that was not my point.”

“I am sorry for interrupting.”

“Do not be sorry for being right. But it was not my point. What I meant to explain was, Mahal made us to have few dams, but he also did not make us as eager for courting and families as other races. Our first love is our craft, dwarf and dam alike. It takes much to draw us from that, to find love and companionship in others. But when we find it, gender has little to it.”

“There is a sense to that, I suppose. Though with so few dams, there must be some encouragement for them to reproduce or there would be no dwarrow.”

“True. Dams seem to have more interest, and we mostly leave it to them to choose and catch their mates. Royal lines are expected to continue, so I was raised to expect marriage and children in time. Once, dams would have chased my riches much as hobbits chase yours.”

Bilbo laughed.

Thorin sobered. “When Erebor was lost… well, I had more important things on my mind.”  
“You dedicated yourself to your people.” Thorin’s knuckles were white as he gripped the arm of his char. Bilbo set a comforting hand on top. “That is no small thing.”

“Aye. And in time my sister bore her sons, and I never worried for heirs further. I had my people and my quest. What more did I need in life?”

“Companionship?”

“To a dwarf, a duty, a craft can be companionship enough. And once I abandoned mine… and my reason—”

Bilbo scoffed, and Thorin twined their fingers together.

“No, do not scoff. I know what I was in those days. And I did leave my kingdom even as I should have been rebuilding it.”

“Was it not for the best? For both of you?”

“I think it might have been. But it left me bereft. I came here, one last ditch attempt to find myself, a purpose. I thought I might at least make amends.”

“You have.”

Thorin smiled and cupped his free hand around their joined two. “Thank you, my friend. Thank you.”

Bilbo smiled and savored the feeling of warmth. His smial had been so cold, so empty before Thorin came, though he knew it not then. He was not looking forward to the dwarf leaving.

“And now you have awakened old fire in this new life.” Thorin shook his head. “And I fear I impose too much.”

“You speak in as many riddles as Gandalf.”

It was Thorin’s turn to scoff. “I do not.”

“Then speak plainly, my friend. For I do not see your meaning.”

“I never thought to feel desire again. It comes in spurts in our youth, and little time though I had for it I did savor some pleasures then. But at this time in my life? What companion could interest me, male or female? Or so I thought. And then you told me of hobbits… and of you.”

Bilbo frowned, though more at the shiver down his spine than Thorin’s words.

“I will not press, my friend, and will leave before I make you uncomfortable. But you have awoken in me the desires Mahal left banked. Knowing that your preferences turned towards your own gender has surprised me… and intrigued me.” Thorin pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s hand, then released it. “But I will say no more. I have had my time to consider. I will leave you to yours.”

He stood, and with a fond smile departed for his room, his dwarf feet audible on the floorboards even without his boots.

Bilbo stayed in his chair. In truth, he did not think he could leave it. Surely his legs would not remain under him after such a revelation. Had the world shifted? Turned on its head? He did not know, but the shock, the awe, the confusion kept him wondering in his chair until he fell asleep.

In the morning, Bilbo woke in his chair, wrapped in a blanket, to Thorin cooking breakfast. The topic did not come up again through the day, but Bilbo caught himself watching how the sun caught the blue in Thorin’s eyes, how the fire highlighted the silver in his hair. Bilbo couldn’t think straight. He knew he had to do something when he almost burned dinner.

“I’ve received an invitation to visit Brandy Hall,” Bilbo said at dinner, thinking of the invitation he received several days ago and had been ignoring. “Cousin Saradoc’s birthday is this week. If I leave in the morning I should be there in time. Would you care to accompany me?”

Thorin shook his head. “I’ve an order of mathom due this week for the Mayor’s daughter’s birthday party.”

And so the next day, Bilbo set out alone for the beyond the eastern boarder of the Shire. It wasn’t until he turned to comment on the most interestingly shaped cloud that he realized how strange it felt to be alone. How many years had it been since he traveled alone through the Shire? Three? Four? Thorin had wormed his way into Bilbo’s life until his constant presence seemed perfectly natural. It was being apart that felt wrong.

But Bilbo continued on. He knew he needed to clear his head of Thorin if he was to sort out what his friend as offering. Or at least he needed to gain some distance.

The chaos that was Brandy Hall, with its deep burrows and many families, made for a thorough distraction from thoughts of Thorin. Bilbo all but forgot his concerns for many days. Until Aunt Mirabella caught him alone one afternoon at tea.

“I do hope you and your young dwarf have not fought.”

Bilbo could only stare at her in surprise.

“Ah, not fought. But something came up. I don’t think anyone has seen you without him since he came to the Shire.”

“He…. He…” Bilbo stuttered. “He’s not my young dwarf. Well, he’s not all that young really. Over two hundred, though that’s not as old for dwarrow as for hobbits. Still, hardly young.”

“Ah, but is he yours?” Aunt Mirabella said, her lips curling in a knowing smile.

Bilbo rubbed his forehead. He’d not had such a laden conversation in some time. 

“It’s been, what? Four years since he arrived at your door? Rumor had it you two were inseparable from the first.” Aunt Mirabella leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. “Your Uncle Isengrim says you must have become lovers on that adventure of yours, the old romantic. But Uncle Hildibrand says you’re both too settled and haven’t realized you’re in love yet.”

Bilbo let out a snort, then a chuckle, then he had to set his tea down before he slopped it everywhere as deep, heartfelt laughter overcame him.

“And?” Aunt Mirabella asked once Bilbo had begun to settle. “Do settle an aunt’s curiosity.”

“How many of you lot have bets going?”

Aunt Mirabella just smiled smugly.

“Apparently it takes a lot to get dwarrow to realize they’re interested in anyone.” Bilbo remembered the warmth in Thorin’s eyes when he pressed his lips to Bilbo’s hand by the fire. “And a lot to make this Baggins realize what’s in front of him.”

“Tempting him with distance then?”

“What? No… he…” Bilbo shook his head. “I needed some time to think.”

“I see. And what decision have you come to?”

Bilbo frowned. While he had not really put a lot of conscious thought into the matter, when his aunt asked, he realized there was only one real answer. “Is cousin Gerondus still the finest carpenter in the Shire? Or should I go to Michel Delving?”

~o0o~

A letter was sent to Bag End, warning Thorin Bilbo would be another week at Brandy Hall. It must be admitted that the notice was both appreciated and worried over. Thorin missed the company of his burglar and had hoped the time apart would be short, whatever decision Bilbo came to. The continuing delay left the retired king resigned to a cold bed and considering again if he should move down to the room over the forge.

He told himself simply to wait and see. The years had taught him never to assume dwarven motivations for hobbit behavior. Still, when Bilbo arrived with a wagon and several burley lads, Thorin found himself at a loss for words.

“Move the current one into the next room,” Bilbo orders, directing the other hobbits from the moment Thorin opened the green door of Bag End. “No, don’t bother setting it up. We’ll deal with that later.”

“Bilbo?”

The hobbit smiled but did not stop, continuing his direction. Thorin could only watch in confusion as the bed in Bilbo’s room was disassembled and moved into the guest room next door. Thorin’s room. Then from the cart was carried a new bed, the frame carefully assembled in the newly empty space, the hobbits moving swiftly around the dwarf staring in confusing from the hall.

“There, that does fit nicely,” Bilbo said as the last bit of frame slotted into place. “A bit simple, but I’ve no doubt that will get sorted.” He shot Thorin a warm look. The beds in Bag End had all ended up rather well carved after Thorin got bored in the depths of the last few winters. He was rather proud of the work, honestly. 

“The mattress is too small,” one hobbit commented as four slid the old mattress into place in the new frame. Thorin looked and only then realized the new bedframe was more than a foot longer than the old, and the mattress left a fair bit of empty space before the footboard.

“I’ve put in an order, but one this large takes time,” Bilbo said, not at all distressed. “I’m sure a thick padding of blankets at the end will do for now. I need all new linens anyway.”

“Bilbo?” Thorin asked again, his voice soft in the shadows as the other hobbits departed, taking the cart with them.

The hobbit—his hobbit?—closed the door before he turned to face Thorin. “I’ve missed you.”

“I have missed you as well. You missed the Mayor’s daughter’s birthday party.”

“My mistake,” Bilbo said dryly, stepping closer, his eyes dancing like a grassy meadow before the wind. “But I had to wait for my order to be ready.”

“Bilbo…?” Thorin didn’t mean to touch Bilbo, never wanted to pressure his dear hobbit in anyway, but his fingers were on that soft, bare cheek before he’d realized he’d moved.

“I realized, even with all the rooms and beds in this place, not one was the right size.” Bilbo turned his head, nuzzling into Thorin’s touch.

“I don’t…?”

“I’ve dwarf beds, and hobbit beds, and even one suitable for men and elves. Well, rather, for a wizard since that’s who always stayed, but you know what I mean.”

Thorin chuckled and tested the waters by sliding his fingers into Bilbo’s curls.

The hobbit’s smile widened. “But not a single bed, not even the one I had made extra wide in case Bombur visited—” They paused to laugh a moment. “Not even that one was as big as I wanted.”

“And why does a hobbit need a bigger bed?” Thorin asked, his heart singing the answer he hoped to hear.

“I’m no tween to be fooling around under the trees or on floors, Thorin Blacksmith,” Bilbo said, reaching up and sliding his hand around Thorin’s neck. “I’m old enough—we’re old enough to want a good bed for such things, and much as I love my parents and every memory of I have of them, their bed is far from long enough to fit us both.”

“Bilbo—”

Before Thorin could say more, a yank on his beard braid pulled his head down, until his lips met with Bilbo’s. Soft, warm, a little wind chapped from days traveling across the Shire. Thorin’s hand gripped tighter, feeling the soft tangle of curls around each finger, the curve of the skull under skin. Such a beloved skull, that protected such a clever brain.

They separated, and Thorin had to ask. “You are sure?”

“I bought you a bed. Did you think I do such things on a whim?”

“I’ve been known to be a possessive ass. You may have trouble sending me away again.”

“I’ve seen you at your worst, King Under the Mountain. But we’ve muddled along all right so far. I think I can take being part of your dwarvish hoard. If you can stand being part of my simple life.”

Thorin smiled. “I think I shall hoard hobbits from now on. I hear they grow on you, and their priorities are excellent.”

Bilbo smirked. “Good choice. Aunt Mirabella will be here to congratulate us next week. I expect the extended relations will all be through shortly, if only to confirm which way the wagers fell.”

“Wagers?”

“Oh yes, we’ve been the talk of the Shire. Did you know I ran away to follow you after you seduced me in front of your entire extended family?”

“Bilbo….” Thorin leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Bilbo’s left cheek. 

“Or I came back after you broke my heart by proposing to another, only to break it off and follow after me.”

“We have a lovely bed….” Thorin pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s right cheek. 

“Though the one where I turned you down and you followed after, secretly courting me for years before showing your face—”

Thorin pressed a firm kiss to Bilbo’s lips. He backed off a touch and whispered, “And no guests…” Another firm kiss followed, and this time Bilbo’s fingers tangled themselves in Thorin’s shirt front. When Thorin pulled back, Bilbo chased him, all the way to his tip toes. When that did not give him enough height to reach Thorin’s lips, firm hobbit fingers tugged at his beard again.

“Get back down here and do this right, dwarf.”

Thorin laughed, and scooped Bilbo up into his arms. “As my Lord Baggins commands.”


	2. Chapter 2

Another late evening knock, too heavy for hobbits, too tentative for most dwarrow. Bilbo shared a bemused look with Thorin before rising to his feet. Thorin rose as well, and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s cheek as he went past.

“I’ll stoke the bathwater.”

That was Thorin. Always helping and forever avoiding other dwarrow. Bilbo shook his head and went to answer the door. Someday he’d get his lover to stop hiding in the shadows.

“Good evening,” Bilbo chirped as the door opened, and then froze, looking up into two faces he had begun to doubt he’d ever see again. “Oh. Oh, Kili.” Bilbo stepped forward and threw his arms around the boy. Kili responded with open arms, and the two folded together.

“Bilbo.”

“I was beginning to think you’d never come by,” Bilbo admitted, cupping Kili’s cheeks once they took a step back. Those cheeks were fully covered in dark hair now, though the growth was as short as Thorin’s beard when he first came to Bag End with the Company.

“And you.” Bilbo turned to Kili’s companion. “Come down here and give an old hobbit a hug.” Tauriel still stood taller than any sensible creature should, but she looked at Kili with love, so Bilbo adored her. She knelt down and let Bilbo wrap his arms around her.

“Come in, come in. Don’t linger on the doorstep. We’ve just started dinner.” Bilbo ushered his guests in. “Boots off. I’ve got extra rolls, and we can add some cold ham, and give me a moment to throw together another salad. Any requests, my lady?” He’d never hosted an elf before and wanted to ensure he provided for her needs. Dwarrow were easy. Lots of meat and sweets and they were happy as could be.

“No, thank you. Whatever you have planned will be just fine,” Tauriel said, hunching over as she passed through the doorways, just like Gandalf always did.

“The large chair is in the corner, just pull it up,” Bilbo said, pointing at the chair his father had crafted for Gandalf many years ago. “Kili, you know where the settings are. Dig in, both of you.”

Bilbo wandered into the kitchen and made a salad, grabbed the ham, pulled out some more rolls. Kili wandered in and took platters as Bilbo prepared them. And still Thorin didn’t come back to the table. Bilbo could go hunting for him, or…

A firm hand slammed into one point on the kitchen wall sent an echo through the halls of the smial. His mother had rigged it, though Bilbo didn’t know how. The loudest noise would be in their room with another strong echo in the study. She’d used it to warn his father when dinner was ready many a time. In the distance, this time, Bilbo heard Thorin bounce off a wall in surprise.

“Get back in here, we have guests,” Bilbo yelled down the hall before returning to his food. Best get a few bites down before Thorin realized just who’d come calling.

“If we’re intruding…” Tauriel began, her eyes glancing between the two settings that had been in place before her arrival.

“Not at all,” Bilbo said firmly.

“Did you go and get married after you came back?” Kili asked.

“Not as such,” Bilbo said lightly. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be considered much of a suitable husband, not even after being settled the last… oh, nine, ten years.”

“Ten,” Thorin said from the doorway. Then froze as he took in the company settled in the room. 

Kili was not so restrained. “Uncle!” He charged from the table like a hyper tween. It was fortunate the table was such a solid piece of furniture or it would have overturned. Kili threw himself at Thorin, and somehow the older dwarf caught him, the two spinning twice before all momentum was killed. They began speaking rapidly in the dwarfish tongue that Thorin still wouldn’t teach Bilbo.

Bilbo shared a fond smile with Tauriel.

“How long?” she asked.

“He wandered up Bagshot Row about five years ago. Never left, I’m pleased to say. I rather expected to see you two sometime soon, after I finally got the story from him.”

Tauriel looked at her lap sheepishly. “We haven’t had much luck finding a place to settle.”

Bilbo leaned over the table and wrapped his hand about hers. “My dear lady, you and yours are always welcome in my home. For as long as you like.”

“You are too kind, Master Baggins.”

“Bilbo, my dear, Bilbo. And family is always welcome in my smial.”

It took a bit, but eventually everyone settled down to eat. Dinner passed into dessert, and Kili liked Bilbo’s baking as much as ever from the look of childlike delight on his face when presented with an option of two pies.

“The water in the back bath should be warm,” Bilbo said once they’d all slumped down to digest in peace, the table well cleared. “Now, will you be wanting one room or two?”

Kili’s eyes went wide and fixed on Bilbo, but Tauriel’s went to Thorin. 

Bilbo huffed. “I only ask because I have no idea what changes might have been wrought since I saw you last. It has been ten years. Don’t worry about him. This is my smial. Now, do you prefer one room or two? There’s only one with a bed large enough for an elf, but it’s wide enough to be comfortable for two. Mother had it built for when Gandalf came by, and that wizard likes his space.” That got a smile from the dwarrow, who remembered the occasional odd positions the wizard ended up in by dawn.

“One room will be fine,” Kili said, tangling his fingers with Tauriel’s.

“Wonderful,” Bilbo said. “I’ll dig out the linens while you two take a bath. I apologize, Tauriel, for the tight fit. We’ve never really set up properly for big folk.”

“Will it be warm?” Tauriel asked softly.

“And plenty of warm,” Bilbo assured her.

“Then you have nothing to apologize for.”

~o0o~

When Bilbo went to dig out the linens, Thorin caught him for one moment against the hallway wall and kissed the daylights out of him. When they parted, they both wore contented smiles.

~o0o~

The next morning, Bilbo slipped into the garden with the entrails of a goose he’d picked up from town the afternoon before. He set them on the stone in the back corner he’d chosen when the ravens started showing up six months after Thorin came. Most letters still came by dwarf, but there were the occasional messages passed by raven, when something big happened. And Bilbo saw no reason not to keep the birds well fed while they lingered in the Shire.

“Good morning,” he called as he laid the entrails out. “Would anyone be up to a flight back to Erebor? I’ve a message for Lady Dis.”

Three ravens came down from the trees, all larger than the average raven in the Shire. They cackled away in their own language for a few minutes and they gulped down cold gizzard. Finally, one turned to Bilbo and clacked his beak.

“Caroc, at your service.”

Bilbo bowed. “Bilbo Baggins at yours.”

“Your message?”

“Greetings to Lady Dis of Erebor from Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. Your brother continues well and I am pleased to announce that your son and his lady have come calling. I hope to settle them here for a year or two as they could both use a good feeding, but no promises.”

Caroc nodded. “That all?”

“I think that is enough, unless it is too much?”

The raven shook his head, then his whole body, resettling his feathers. “Good day.” And off the raven flew through the blue sky of the Shire.

When Bilbo stepped inside, he found Thorin lingering in the doorway.

“I’ve finally caught you with your spies.”

Bilbo snorted. “If you took issue, you’d have done something long ago.”

“Balin?”

“Dis. I thought she might want to know her son is still alive after all.”

Thorin snorted. “She might just show up on your doorstep next spring.”

Bilbo pressed a kiss to Thorin’s cheek. “I’ll air out the good linins then. Now, do you want scones or pancakes for breakfast?”

~o0o~

Kili spent much of the next week down in the forge with Thorin. Tauriel seemed off balance but willing to spend time with Bilbo in the garden. When it came time for Bilbo to make his rounds of his tenants, he invited her along.

“The ceilings will be a bit low, but everyone is quite friendly.”

“I’ve no desire to engender more gossip,” Tauriel protested.

Bilbo scoffed. “My dear girl, no one will prevent gossip, but I assure you most of it is quite good. The faunts will be delighted to meet an elf, and the rest will just want to hear stories of Mirkwood. They’re tired of my tales.”

“Master Baggins—”

“Bilbo, my dear.”

“I am grateful you have been so welcoming, but I know better than to expect the same from everyone here.”

Bilbo pursed his lips and sat on the bench beside Tauriel. “I don’t know where you two have been the last few years. Thorin said he saw you off to Rivendell…”

“We stayed several years. Lord Elrond was most kind and helped Kili… but not everyone…”

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, I noticed some issues in Rivendell with dwarrow.”

“We tried the Blue Mountain, as well… and wandered. But neither dwarrow nor elder welcomed us both. And the villages of men…”

“Say no more, my dear. You’ll find hobbits are a bit of a different breed than others of Middle Earth. Standoffish with most, to be certain, but as far as Hobbiton is concerned, you’re my niece.”

“Bilbo, I can’t see how that—”

“They’ve quite gotten used to Thorin. You’re just more family come visiting. And the more you spend time with them all, the faster they’ll accept that. Come on now. We’ll have tea, tell a few stories, pick up the rents, and before long you’ll be just another oddity from Bag End amongst many.”

~o0o~

“You’re trying to get Kili and Tauriel to stay,” Thorin said as they settled in for the night.

“You just noticed?” Bilbo replied.

“Do you think it will work?”

Bilbo kissed Thorin thoroughly before snuggling down on his pillow. “Take them hunting tomorrow. I need space for some remodeling.”

Thorin blinked, then smirked. “You are surprisingly devious when you put your mind to it, burglar.”

“They don’t call me dragonriddler for no reason.”

~o0o~

Bilbo had been putting in orders and making plans since Kili arrived, so when the hobbits he’d hired arrived at Bag End, work progressed quite quickly. Not that a remodel including digging could be completed in a day. Still, by the time Thorin returned for dinner, the work was easily half finished.

“Kili and Tauriel?” Bilbo asked when the retired king returned alone.

“They decided to spend the night under the stars while the weather is still mild enough.”

Bilbo had no complaints, and he and Thorin enjoyed having the smial to themselves for the night.

Kili and Tauriel wandered home by lunch the following day, a brace of hares over Kili’s shoulder and a brace of pheasants over Tauriel’s. Bilbo welcomed them home with a hearty meal and the fading sound of hammers.

“What have you been up to?” Kili asked, peering over his lunchtime ale at the various workers tromping in and out, mostly out, the front door of Bag End.

“Finish your meal and I’ll show you,” Bilbo promised. Kili had been around hobbits enough to know rushing through good food would not bring his answers all the sooner, so the four continued apace and only wandered down the halls of Bag End once Bilbo gave the signal.

They did leave the dishes for later.

Thick burlap protected the hardwood floors of the hall leading up to one of the front guestrooms. Bungo had designed it with hosting families with young faunts in mind, so the room was a bit bigger than normal and had a wide, front facing window. Bilbo hadn’t touched it previously, digging his new rooms into the depths of the hill where dwarrow would find comfort in the warm dark of the earth.

Workers had removed the ceiling and dug up under a fortunately placed bulge in the hill, raising the headspace to well above elvish height. That morning, they had installed a skylight in the peak of the room, with well-seasoned ceiling beams to support the remaining earth above. The walls were now filled in and the only sign of the room’s original size was the low height of the front window and the door to the hallway.

“Bilbo,” Tauriel breathed softly as she spun in the middle of the room, light from the skylight beaming down and turning her hair to russet gold.

“I thought you might like to see the stars at night,” Bilbo offered.

“You did this… for us?” Kili asked, watching his lady love with awe.

Bilbo made an affirmative noise. “I pride myself on being a good host. But even more on offering a good home for my family.”

Kili rushed over and wrapped Bilbo in a bear hug. “Thank you, Durub,” he whispered into Bilbo’s curls.

Thorin leaned in and pressed a kiss to Kili’s crown. “Irakdashat.”

Once free, Bilbo leaned contentedly against Thorin in the doorway and watched Kili and Tauriel explore. The workmanship was top notch, if a bit sparse on decoration.

“I thought you two might do your own carving over the winter. Or several winters if you want,” Bilbo said and found himself bowled over in another hug.

“The furniture should be delivered this afternoon, if the letter two days ago was correct,” Thorin said, getting a sharp elbow to the gut.

“You were reading over my shoulder.”

“Of course I was, akdâmuthrabê.”

“Furniture?” Tauriel asked, finally turning to her benefactors.

“A wardrobe, two desks, and a bed big enough for sharing for as long or as often as you like,” Bilbo said quite proudly. “They’re a little plain. I didn’t really give anyone enough time, but Thorin could use a new project for the winter, or I didn’t know if you two would prefer to do your own.”

Tauriel dropped to her knees before Bilbo and enfolded both he and Thorin in a hug. “Le channon, Bilbo. Thorin. Thank you. No one has…”

Bilbo pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I know, Nésiel. You are always welcome here.”

~o0o~

Fall turned to winter, and winter was full of fires, warm food, laughter, and the scent of wood shavings. Bilbo hadn’t been as happy since his parents had filled Bag End with their joy, their love. Given his choice, his family would never leave. But Bilbo knew it was not his choice. He could only encourage others and hope.

Kili made his mark in Hobbiton with fine forge work and occasional hunting to bring in fresh game. He always distributed his catch to the most needy families, and the children loved the new games he suggested.

Tauriel struggled to find her place, unable to accept acceptance when everyone around her barely came past her waist. Until the day she went for a long walk and came back with the corpses of two wolves she’d found denning in the hills between Hobbiton and Needlehole. The tanner had turned the hides into a fine coat for her and trim for one for Kili, and the mothers came by for weeks with baked goods and profuse thanks. The Fell Winter was not so long ago that hobbits didn’t fear wolves in the Shire.

When spring began to warm the air, Tauriel started getting her own invitations to tea without necessarily the company of her smialmates. Young hobbit lads started looking longingly, offering flowers and inviting her to dance. But while Tauriel began to settle better into life in the Shire, Kili got tetchier.

Bilbo confronted him one day while Kili was chopping wood. Or, nominally he was dividing wood for the fire. It sounded more like he was hacking at the stump to see who broke first.

“She loves you, you know,” Bilbo prompted.

Kili snarled, a look rather reminiscent of his uncle at his worst.

“I rather doubt she’s going to run off after some hobbit lad centuries her junior.”

A flailing arm threw the axe across the yard and into the old oak in the corner of the garden. Bilbo offered a disappointed glare, and Kili wilted, the anger rushing from him like a flood.

“If we were wed, they would not think to chase her so.”

“Well, young tweens like that might be tempted. Your lady is quite fetching. But there is an easy fix. Unless you think she’d say no.”

Kili dropped to a seat with a whimper, and Bilbo stepped to his side, running his fingers through the dwarf’s long, tangled hair.

“Come now, do you really think she would? I’ve seen how she looks at you.”

“And where would we wed?” Kili hissed, leaning into Bilbo’s leg. “We considered it in Rivendell, but no elf would agree to wed an elf to a dwarf. In Ered Luin we had the reverse problem. Go to a village of men, and we just get stared at. No one believes…”

Bilbo snorted and tugged at Kili’s one surviving braid. Everything else had fallen out since he last washed, but the one Tauriel had put in in the elvish style held best. “Silly boy, you’re in the Shire. Have a hobbitish wedding. I assure you no one will look askance here. Or no more than usual for the vagaries of Bag End.”

Kili looked up with the faintest hint of hope in his eyes.

“Has this really weighed on you so long?”

Those dark eyes filled with tears.

“You should have said something. Though summer weddings are better luck than winter. And I’m sure she’d prefer services outside.”

“You’d help us?” Kili leaned into Bilbo’s body like the child he very nearly still was. Sometimes Bilbo wondered what Tauriel saw in Kili, the little boy who never quite grew up. And yet… and yet. His eyes were older than they were when Bilbo first knew him, aged by war and loss. They shared that.

“Of course I will. Silly boy. I’d do anything for you, and well you should know it.”

Kili huffed, half sigh, half sob. “But I still have nothing to offer her. No home, no people.”

Bilbo slapped the dwarfling upside the head, lightly of course. “Nonsense. You have a home here.”

“Your home, Bilbo, no matter that you welcome us.”

“And people. Oh, you. Get up. Follow me.” Bilbo grabbed Kili’s arm and tugged, leading the stumbling dwarf from the garden and down the backside of the hill. “You want a home, not living with your uncle and his hobbit lover?”

Kili giggled, childlike for a moment. “Well, it does put a bit of a noose on things from time to time.”

Bilbo snorted. “And vice versa, my boy.”

“Ewww, I do not want to know what you and my uncle get up to.”

“Fair enough. Now, my lad, I respect your concerns. My father had the same ones when he courted my mother. Built her Bag End.”

“It’s a lovely home. But I’m not sure your point.”

Bilbo pointed to the small hill at the edge of the small wood just beyond the Hill, between the vineyard and the corn field. “So build your love a home.”

Kili stared at the view, the tree atop the hill and those trailing out behind, the boulders were too large for hobbits to move poking up in the gaps between wood and field. “What?”

“I think in the hill would be a lovely spot,” Bilbo said getting Kili moving again. “But Tauriel might prefer something on the surface or up the tree. I think the old oak is large enough to support at least a platform or two.”

“In the hill or on it…” 

Bilbo was a little worried the boy was more damaged by the war than he’d thought, but those boots started moving faster across the green grass and Kili’s fingers started dancing in the air as though he were sketching a landscape. Or plans for a home.

“This…” Kili turned to Bilbo, his eyes lighting up. Just as quickly as it had arrived, the light shuttered and died. “I can’t afford this. We’ve hardly anything left after our traveling, and as generous as you and—”

Slapping a hand over Kili’s mouth shut the dwarf up. Bilbo stood straight and firm, tucking his free hand into the pocket of his waistcoat like a proper gentlehobbit. “Hush, my lad. I would not have suggested such a thing if money was a concern. My father bought this land, all of Bagshot Row, the fields, the forest. It was quite pricy, but Bungo Baggins thought ahead. He made back every penny inside of ten years thanks to the rents. And even offering the most reasonable rents in the Shire, I still make more in a year than most hobbits do in ten.”

Kili pulled Bilbo’s hand away and looked upon him with utter confusion. “Why did you come with us? I mean, if that’s true, you hardly needed the money.”

“This is my home.” Bilbo waved his hand at the rolling hills and fields about them. “My father bought it with my mother’s dowry, but they made it theirs, and then granted it to me. A hobbit’s home is the heart of his family. We understand that need. I looked at all of you…” A tear trickled wetly down his cheek. “How could I not help?”

“It’s just like what you told Uncle Thorin after the goblins.”

Bilbo smiled. “I meant every word.”

“I…” Kili bent and pressed his forehead to Bilbo’s. “Thank you, Durub.”

“Yes, well.” Bilbo fussed with the hang of his waistcoat a moment before turning to the small hill again and linking his arm with Kili’s. “As I was saying, I’ve money enough to spoil my nephew and his bride. And that’s not even taking into account the troll hoard I raided on my way back all those years ago. Haven’t touched a coin of it.”

“Hey, I’ve got a right to a share of that. You’d never have gone into that clearing if I hadn’t pushed you.”

“Humph, never would have been needed if you’d kept track of the ponies.”

~o0o~

Bilbo made a simple supper that night, lots of finger foods, and portioned everything into two baskets. He and Thorin took theirs to the top of the Hill, under the oak Bilbo had planted when he returned from his adventure. It wasn’t all that old, but Beorn’s magics held true somehow even this far from Mirkwood. That little sapling was very nearly a full grown tree.

A quite evening turned to a quiet night, and Bilbo and Thorin turned in with no sign of their co-inhabitants. Kili and Tauriel had taken their basket and headed off down the back end of Bagshot Row. Bilbo did want to know if all was successful, but he wasn’t inclined to wait up to find out.

Still, when Kili and Tauriel wandered into the kitchen the next morning for second breakfast, having completely missed the first, unable to take their eyes off each other, Bilbo knew.

“Have you set a date?” Bilbo asked as he set plates before them both. Hopefully the good smells would draw them in, because they certainly couldn’t see anything but each other’s eyes.

“Hmm?” Thorin was the one to question as Kili and Tauriel were still distracted.

“I only ask because I want to know if you want a solo event or to join the general marriage ceremony this spring.”

No one replied.

“Don’t make me come over there and bang some heads together,” Thorin growled at them, and Kili at least turned looking sheepish.

“I do not wish to apply and extra burden with the cost and preparation—”

Bilbo scoffed before Tauriel could finish. “Dearest nésiel, please, please, please take money out of the equation. I will spend what I want, when I want, no matter what either of you say. Now, when suits you?”

“My people favor Midsummer,” Tauriel said shyly.

“Kili, any objection to Midsummer? We can make it part of the summer festival. If you don’t mind a crowd…”

Kili just grinned up at his lady love. “Midsummer sounds perfect.”

~o0o~

Bilbo snuck out into the garden with a rabbit haunch when he should have been making lunch. The ravens were more than willing to carry a message or two for the promise of sheep’s eyeballs when they got back.

~o0o~

Bilbo might have spilled the beans about the new construction being planned while he was at the market. And, as hobbits are a bit prone to gossip, the news might have been spread throughout Hobbiton by dinner (it would take a few more days to spread throughout the Shire, but not many). When Thoin led Kili and Tauriel to the site the next morning to start making plans, they found more than a few curious hobbits waiting, as well as a number offering their services in whatever capacity would suit.

With many eager hands and minds, plans progressed quickly and building began soon after. The chosen design split the home between the tree and a house on the surface, but deep cellars were included for dwarven comfort as well as food storage. Bilbo spent a little extra gold to have decent stone shipped in from Ered Luin to provide a properly dwarfish ground floor. He also wrote to Rivendell for ideas on the best woods and techniques to support the upper levels.

The stone arrived in late spring with a small troop of dwarrow. Offers of a bit more payment kept several on to assist with the building. However, they all departed when the main caravan arrived a week later. This one came with no stone, but with Lady Dis at the head. The reunion between mother and son was beautiful to watch. Her acceptance of Tauriel seemed to improve with every story.

"At least she's not some fainting flower," Dis confided to Bilbo and Thorin one evening when they had Bag End to themselves (a rare occurrence since the entire Company had come as well and Bilbo finally had a use for all those rooms he’d added to Bag End).

"Just because you call them weed-eaters does not mean they are plants," Bilbo snapped, politely.

The dwarrow laughed.

~o0o~

Lord Elrond arrived with his party a week before the wedding. Tauriel was drop jawed by his effusive greeting and the presence of his sons, all three of them. Thorin and Dis simply accepted his presence with stoic acceptance and kingly demeanors.

Bilbo got an earful once he and Thorin were alone.

"You invited them."

"Who?" Bilbo asked politely, ignoring the snarl in his lover's voice.

"The weed eaters."

Bilbo glared. "Thorin Blacksmith, of course I did. I invited a number of friends to this wedding. Including your sister."

Thorin softened for a moment, but soon returned to his kingly frown. "Lord Elrond?"

"If I thought Thranduil would have come, I would have invited him," Bilbo spat. "However, Lord Elrond actually likes your family, even though you insist on being a complete ass. And if anyone would understand an elf loving another race, you'd think he and his family would."

The frown softened again. "I still don't like him."

"He's my friend as well."

"And for that I will tolerate him."

Bilbo stepped closer and tugged on Thorin's braid until he was close enough to kiss. "Thank you, my king."

Thorin leaned down and pressed his forehead to Bilbo's. "I am not king anymore."

"You will always be my king."

~o0o~

Hobbits began pouring into Hobbiton two days before Midsummer. The Mayor arrived with a familial entourage, then the Thain brought most of the residents of the Great Smials, and finally the Master of Buckland emptied Brandy Hall. Fortunately, the weather was excellent, so everyone could camp out in the fields and meadows rather than try and cram them all into the smials of Hobbiton.

Bilbo wasn’t sure the exact count, but quite possibly the population of Hobbiton had tripled.

The biggest surprise, however—the hobbits having just been family deciding to invade and investigate the newcomers—was the elf who rode into town the night before the fete. Dinner was being held in the garden, just to make room for everyone who might consider themselves invited, so everyone heard the approaching hoof beats. No one missed the tall figure who dismounted at the front gate of Bag End or the way his long blond hair caught the moonlight.

“Legolas?” Tauriel was the first to name him, if not the first to identify him. He strode straight to her, ignoring how Kili tried to step between them.

“Tauriel.” Legolas seemed relieved. “Are you well?”

“Quite.” Tauriel’s lips quirked up in a smile, and she wrapped her arm around Kili’s shoulders, pulling him close before he could attack instead of just snarling.

“You are happy?”

“Utterly.”

“Good.” Legolas finally looked at Kili. “Might I congratulate my sister without getting a knife in the ribs?”

Kili looked shocked but stepped back and nodded.

“Sister?” Tauriel asked tentatively.

“You were right, Muinthel. I see the truth. My love is out there, and someday I will find them. But you have found yours?”

Tauriel threw herself into his arms, tears glinting in her eyes. “I have. I have, Muindor.”

“I am glad. I’m sorry I did not arrive sooner. I was scouting to the north and Strider’s message just reached me.”

“You are in time. The wedding is tomorrow.”

“I thought you were joking about inviting Thranduil,” Thorin whispered to Bilbo as they watched the tearful reunion. Kili was quickly dragged into the hug and soon Legolas was being introduced around.

“I said I’d invite him if I thought he would come,” Bilbo said, feeling quite pleased with himself. “I didn’t know where his son was, save that he’d left. But I did mention him in my message to Lord Elrond.”

Thorin leaned in and kissed Bilbo soundly. “I leave all the plotting to you, akdâmuthrabê. They should have asked you to take the throne of Erebor. I do believe you would have had Thranduil eating out of your hand inside of six months.”

“Only if he did something about the horrible state of his kingdom.” Bilbo shuddered. The spiders still haunted his nightmares. Amongst other things. But still. “Otherwise I’d avoid him. The whole place felt foul.”

“It did.” Legolas surprised them both, but they greeted him with smiles and hugs. The actions were only slightly begrudging on Thorin’s part. “Only after I left did I truly realize how tainted Mirkwood has become.”

“Well, hopefully taking out Smaug and that necromancer will give things a leg up on recovery,” Bilbo said. “But enough talk of such things. This is a night for celebration. I want to hear music!”

~o0o~

Morning dawned clear and bright. Hobbits flooded the field around the Party Tree from the first moment they could see their toes. The elves were not much longer in arriving. The dwarrow, however, slept in and did not arrive until midmorning.

Fortunately, there was still plenty left to eat.

The party was intended to last all night, after all.

The wedding was in the afternoon, the sun slanting down over the happy couple and their many, varied relations. In the arbor built just for this moment, the bride and groom stood. They wore simple dress upon their bodies and crowns of flowers on their heads. They desired nothing more.

With Dis’ encouragement, they exchanged vows in Khuzdul and set one more braid in each other’s hair. Dis provided the beads, from her own wedding to her beloved husband. She would not hear of her son and new daughter using any other.

With Legolas’ support and Lord Elrond’s guidance, Kili and Tauriel exchanged vows in Sindarin and shared gold rings that Kili had forged himself with gold from the trolls’ hoard.

Under the benevolent eye of the Thain, ribbons were tied about their hands, Durin blue and Greenwood green, binding them together in the hobbit manner. Vows were made with kisses and the promise of food to come.

Throughout it all, the happy couple smiled.

At the end of the ceremony, Kili and Tauriel turned to the cheering crowd and waved for silence.

“Thank you all for joining us today,” Kili said, his grin fit to split his face in two. “I cannot express the full depth of my gratitude for all your support.”

“We have truly been blessed in coming here,” Tauriel said. “It would not be the same without each and every one of you, elf and dwarf, hobbit and man.”

“And we know, even as we thank you, that most of you want nothing more than to help demolish the buffet table, but we beg your patience a little longer.”

“We would not be here today without the support of two very special people, two who have offered us everything to find our happiness, but refuse to seize their own.”

“We as your patience as we ask our beloved uncles if they will share this day with us.” Kili gestured, and Legolas and Dis, who had been sneaking around for just this moment, shoved Bilbo and Thorin toward the arbor.

“What’s this now?” Bilbo cried out, nearly taking a tumble.

“Kili, what is this foolishness?” Thorin bellowed, catching Bilbo’s arm before he could fall.

“Have you never considered it?” Kili asked, stepping forward with Tauriel at his side.

“After all those encouraging conversations, the way you nudged us on, you never felt the desire for the same?” Tauriel added.

“You two are besotted with each other,” Dis said. “It’s obvious in all Bilbo’s messages. And watching you two the last months… Honestly, brother, what’s the hold up?”

Dwalin snorted from the edge of the crowd. “They’ve been making moon eyes at each other since Carrock.”

The Company agreed.

Bilbo sputtered. “We… we most certainly have not.”

“You most certainly have since Thorin arrived in the Shire,” Aunt Mirabella said, and agreement was heard from several Tooks and a few Hobbiton locals.

Thorin chuckled while Bilbo sputtered some more.

“Perhaps we could consider this a moment?” Thorin said. “As you can see, it’s not something we have discussed.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to marry Uncle Bilbo?” Kili asked, his eyes suddenly as wide and sad as a pleading faunt.

Thorin sighed and ducked his head. “No.” He said the word softly, but it still echoed through the field. 

“Don’t you want to marry Thorin?” Tauriel asked. She could not pull off the innocent look but had mastered ethereally sad and tortured.

“Whether I want to or not is not the issue,” Bilbo spat. “I won’t tie him to the Shire. I have no right—”

“Bilbo.” The single, soft word from Thorin cut off Bilbo’s every train of thought. They turned and their eyes met. “If a time comes when I must leave, I will. But there will be no other. I know hobbits do not usually marry in such pairings—”

“I’m an idiot.”

“Bilbo?”

“My mother will never forgive me.”

Thorin sighed and looked away. “I understand. What hobbit parent would want a dwarf for their son.”

“Don’t be foolish. My mother was a Took. She’ll never forgive me for being too Baggins to see the truth under my nose all this time.” And with that, Bilbo grabbed Thorin’s braid and pulled him into a kiss.

Cheers rang out through the party field.

“We’d best do this right,” Bilbo said.

“Aye,” Thorin agreed. “Though I’ve neither rings nor beads.”

“Ha!” Dis cried, holding up her hand with two more beads. “I brought a little something from your old box, brother mine.”

“Come now,” Kili said, “do you really think I didn’t plan ahead?” He held up a hand with two more rings, simple bands of silver, for Thorin still had a twitch when presented with gold.

“It looks like we’ve been outfoxed,” Bilbo said, looking to where his cousin was holding up another set of ribbons, dark blue and Baggins red. “They’ve all been plotting around us for weeks apparently.”

“Months,” Lord Elrond said dryly.

“You were in on it?” Thorin said, staring at the elf.

“The rangers have been tracking progress through gossip from the hobbits for passing back to Erebor by way of Rivendell for years,” Fortinbras said. “Now get up here and get married so we can all go eat.”

Cheers rang out through the party field.

And so Bilbo Baggins of the Shire and Thorin Blacksmith of nowhere in particular, formerly Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, were wed with silver bands, mithril beads, and blue and red ribbons on Midsummer’s Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have gone a little nuts with the endearments. These are scavenged from all over the place, but any errors are mine.
> 
> Khuzdul:  
> Akdâmuthrabê – my burglar  
> Durub – uncle  
> Irakdashat - nephew
> 
> Sindarin:  
> Muinthel – dear sister  
> Muindor – dear brother  
> Le channon – Thank you with all my heart  
> Nésiel – niece (derived from Quenya since there’s no word in Sindarin apparently)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a bit and a few iterations, but I've finally figured it out. I think I know where this story is going, over all, too. We'll see how fast it goes, though.

A small part of Bilbo wished he and Thorin could take a week or two to themselves. They were newly married after all. But it appeared the plotters hadn’t taken a holiday into account, and he had a plethora of guests that he just couldn’t abandon.

Not to say spending the day in the kitchen baking with Bombur wasn’t a wonderful experience in and of itself. It was, and one quite rare enough to be savored.

But Bilbo still rather wished his husband were there.

A grin crossed Bilbo’s face that had nothing to do with the sweet smell of scones coming from the oven. Husband. It still gave him tingles that Thorin loved a simple hobbit enough to tie his life to Bilbo.

The thud of books in the hall heralded a swarm of dwarrow entering the smial. Or so it sounded. Boots were such nasty, noisy contraptions. But Bilbo’s dwarrow were well trained. Boots stayed by the door. So when softer footsteps continued through the dining room, Bilbo turned with a fond smile. His husband and, unsurprisingly, his sister-in-law stood in the doorway.

Looking puzzled.

“Oh please tell me no one said anything stupid, today of all days,” Bilbo said with a sigh. He’d thought the hobbits of Hobbiton were getting quite used to Thorin, and Kili, and Tauriel. But every now and again someone (not always Lobelia) said something improper. And the trend had been a bit worse of late with the dwarrow lingering for the wedding. Weddings.

“No.” Thorin paused, brow wrinkling. “Well, not necessarily?”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow and turned to Dis. “Translation?”

“How long have you two been together and you can’t make sense of him?” Dis said, all but laughing.

“He’s complicated,” Bilbo said defensively.

Thorin snorted. “For all you’ve bitched about the complexities of dwarven culture, I’ve tripped up over hobbit culture quite enough to convince me it’s just as complex, if not more so.”

“And what hobbit cultural complexity did we trip over today?”

“The townsfolk kept calling him Mr. Baggins.” Oh yes, Dis was definitely laughing. But Thorin was watching Bilbo carefully, and Bilbo nodded.

“Not unexpected. Normally if two gentlehobbits go so far as to marry, they both take the name of the most senior, or sometimes the most suitable name. A Took moving to Buckland might well change his name to Brandybuck. They were simply trying to be polite.”

“Hobbits are always so very polite,” Bombur said as he swapped out batches of baked goods. “I’ve noticed that.”

“Unless they aren’t,” Thorin said, a twinkle in his eye.

“Lobelia,” Thorin and Bilbo said together and chuckled.

“Yes, well,” Bilbo continued, “I’m certain they were just grateful for a chance to easily offer you a clan name. You’ve been rather lacking. But if you don't like it, I'm sure a word in a few ears would sort the matter quickly."

"I've not thought on it much," Thorin admitted. 

Thundering boots from the hall heralded the entrance of Kili, with something intriguing on his mind given how he’d failed to take off his boots. Only the tall figure of his wife behind him betrayed her presence, her feet ever silent in boots or out.

“Boots,” Bilbo yelled. Kili paused, shucked his boots, and tossed them across the room to land with a dent inducing thud in the entry. Bilbo winced. “I thought you two would be firmly ensconced in your…” Bilbo paused, looking to substitute his first thought for something more polite.

“Bedroom,” Dis said delightedly and grinned as Kili flushed.

“We went for a picnic,” Tauriel said politely.

“And some faunts were playing by the river,” Kili added. “They asked us if we were Bagginses now, or what name we’d be using. Uncle Bilbo? What did they mean.”

Bilbo explained again what he’d just said to the others.

"Huh. We've never had second names as you hobbits do," Kili said. "I've never heard of a dwarf changing his designation."

"Only if something particularly bad happens. I knew a dwarf who took to going by his mother's name after his father... well, it was unpleasant and he no longer wished to acknowledge his sire." Thorin looked a bit pained about the matter, so no one pried.

"Elves lack such designations as well. We too tend more towards place and deed names," Tauriel offered.

"Too true. Hobbits, however, like their clan names over use names, though we've a few of those. My great uncle, Bullroarer Took for example. Though even then, as you can see, clan name tends to stick. I'm afraid habit has driven them to treat Blacksmith as Thorin’s family name for some time," Bilbo said. 

"Like you used to do with Oakenshield," Kili said.

"Well, it did seem more formal to call your uncle Mr. Oakenshield than Mr. Thorin. I certainly didn't want to insult him by assuming any measure of familiarity."

Dis snorted, and Thorin punched her shoulder, looking a little sheepish. For a moment, Bilbo was thrown back to watching Kili and Fili banter about the fire.

Thorin cleared his throat before saying, "I don't mind being a Baggins. It seems a rather... honorable name."

Bilbo smiled, a gentle warmth filling him. He'd been rather enjoying that feeling since Thorin had clasped hands with him the day before. And it might do Thorin some good to get a new name. Thorin Oakenshield was dead, but Thorin Baggins was very much alive and well.

"If Uncle is a Baggins, can Tauriel and I be as well?"

Kili and Tauriel both looked oddly young and eager, and Bilbo had to smile. "I should be honored to have you both within the Baggins clan. Though you might find more welcome overall in the Took clan. I fear Lobelia will be quite wroth."

Tauriel smirked, looking rather like a vengeful Thranduil for a moment. "Perfect. Baggins it is."

~o0o~

It was hard to say goodbye to all their guests. As much as Bilbo was looking forward to not cooking for twenty every day, he would be sorry to see them all go. Living as far away as they did, it was hard to say if he’d ever see any of them again. Certainly not together.

Thorin clearly felt the same, lingering over each goodbye. 

Dis looked about ready to move in with Kili and Tauriel and had been overheard muttering about grand-babies more than once. But she looked saddest when gazing at Thorin.

The elves and dwarrow finally set out together. Much to Thorin’s disgust, they’d agreed to travel to Rivendell together.

“You’re dead, Thorin,” Dis had said when he tried to protest. “If Dain wants to strengthen ties with Lord Elrond, that is his choice as King Under the Mountain.”

Thorin had rolled his eyes but let it go.

Once the caravan was finally out of sight, Thorin and Bilbo sauntered back to Bag End. Bilbo felt exhaustion tugging at his feet, but it was a good exhausted, like the one that came after throwing a huge tea party for all of his relations and there not being a single fight.

Thorin just looked wrung out.

When the door was shut behind them and the echoing silence of the halls had sunk into their bones, Bilbo turned to his husband. 

“We’ll visit someday,” he offered, hating the pained look in Thorin’s eyes.

“No,” Thorin said sharply. “I can’t go back.” His eyes softened, sadness and longing warring in their blue depths.

“A disguise—” Bilbo snapped his mouth shut at a wild shake of Thorin’s head, braids swinging wildly.

“Bilbo, I didn’t leave for guilt, or for losing Fili. Not only.”

“I know.” Bilbo pressed Thorin against the wall, let the wood carry both their weights. 

“I can’t go back. Even with Dain spreading the wealth…” Thorin’s fingers wrapped themselves in Bilbo’s waistcoat and clenched tight, knuckles turning white. Bilbo looked up and found a glint of madness in his husband’s eyes.

“You escaped it once,” Bilbo said softly.

“I had to break myself to do it,” Thorin croaked. “The seeds are still there, still strong, still germinating, roots tangled in the broken pieces.”

At any other time, on any other subject, hearing Thorin speak in hobbit terms would have been the most romantic thing ever. But now it just left Bilbo cold. “I know you, Thorin Baggins”—that broke through the bleakness a moment, and Thorin’s lips quirked up in the ghost of a smile—“you are stronger than you think.”

Thorin leaned down and pressed his forehead to Bilbo’s. “Your faith in me, akdâmuthrabê… Thank you.”

Bilbo tugged on one braid in the multitude woven through Thorin’s hair, the one with their marriage bead on the end, and kissed his husband. Given how Thorin shivered at the touch, he knew just which braid Bilbo had chosen. “Enough dark subjects. You, me, and an otherwise empty smial.”

“We are newlyweds,” Thorin said, his voice a deep, tempting growl.

“Yes, we are.”

~o0o~

“Mr. Baggins. Mr. Baggins,” chirped Hamfast Gamgee as Bilbo and Thorin stepped out their front door.

“Morning, Master Gamgee,” Bilbo said. “How are my lilies looking?”

“Fine, Mr. Baggins.”

Thorin walked to the top of the road and yelled down, “Kili?”

“Coming, Uncle,” wafted up the road.

With a kiss for Bilbo, Thorin started down the road toward town. A minute or two later, Kili came running along the path, puffing in time with the thud of his boots. 

“Morning, Uncle Bilbo,” he cried as he thundered past.

“Every morning,” Bilbo said with a chuckle.

“Worse things to wake up to,” Hamfast said.

“True.” Bilbo stepped back inside a moment and returned with a basket. “If you see Tauriel, let her know I’ve gone to the market.”

“Of course, Mr. Bilbo.”

“Oh, and Hamfast, come to tea today. Number three is coming open.”

“Mr. Bilbo…”

“And bring your lady. Bell Chubb, I do believe.”

The young hobbit turned a vivid red but wore a lovelorn grin as he nodded. “Aye, Mr. Bilbo.”

~o0o~

The first time Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was at a tea Tauriel was invited to and heard the elf referred to as Mrs. Baggins, her scream was heard across the whole of Hobbiton.

“How dare you give those outsiders the Baggins name.” She had quickly run off to Bag End to confront Bilbo while her temper was at full force. “Next you’ll tell me you’ve named them your heirs.”

“Certainly not,” Bilbo scoffed, which froze Lobelia in her tracks.

“Then you’ve finally named Otho, as you should.” She threw her nose in the air as she spoke, trying to recover the high ground.

“Otho is not my heir, and he never will be,” Bilbo countered dryly. “I have dozens of cousins to choose from, and I will never”—he spat the word—“never let you be mistress of my mother’s home.”

“I’ve more right to it than your lover’s get.”

“My husband’s nephew, you mean,” Bilbo corrected. “Aye, you do. But Adalgrim has more. Or Ferdinand, or Fortinbras.”

“Tooks?” Lobelia shrieked. “You would leave your home to Tooks? This is a Baggins home. Baggins of Bag End. And Otho is your nearest Baggins relative.”

“I,” Bilbo snarled, “am the Baggins of Bag End. But this is my mother’s home. My Mother, Lobelia Bracegirdle. Remember her? Belladonna Took? My father built this smial for my mother, not for the Baggins family. I will choose who lives it in when I am gone, and her kin has far more right to it than you do.”

Lobelia sniffed haughtily. “I always said you were a stain on the Baggins family name. I’m not sure it’s a name work keeping anymore, letting any old thing in.”

Bilbo growled at her.

“Well, at least you’ve got a little sense left, leaving Bag End to a hobbit instead of your dwarrow.”

He couldn’t help it, Bilbo laughed. “Kili and Tauriel don’t want Bag End. They’d never forgive me if I left it to them. Tauriel can’t stand up inside the halls.” He shook his head sadly, pouting falsely. “Oh, I would leave it to them, if they’d let me. No, they have their own home now down at Wood’s Rest, and far better suited to them.” He gave up the sad look and grinned as darkly and toothily as any goblin. “I granted them the wood, you know. It’ll revert to the owner of Bag End if they die without issue, but as long as they or one of their bloodline live in that house, the house, the woods, the nearby fields, all theirs. And a quarter of the quarterly rent from Bagshot Row.”

He barely got that last bit out before Lobelia exploded. Metaphorically only, unfortunately. Not a coherent word made it out of her mouth in the ten minutes she raged before stomping from Bag End. Bilbo didn’t stop grinning for far longer than it took for the ringing in his ears to stop.

~o0o~

“Bilbo?”

“Yes, Thorin?”

“Your cousin has sent word that he backed you with ‘that harridan’ but that you’d better file something formal just in case. Any idea what he’s talking about?”

“Ah, I might have implied to Lobelia that I’d left Bag End to the Tooks.”

“And have you?”

“Actually… no. I should take a day and head over to Michael Delving and sort that. I’ll put the property into the Took trust until I find something better.”

“Took trust?”

“The Great Smials are in a trust, commanded by the Thain. All lands and monies distributed amongst those who live there and maintain it. If I were to die and Bag End were to go into the trust, the Thain would assign someone to live here and tend to the lands and rents.”

“That seems decent.”

“Aye. I’d prefer to see a good family here, and a Baggins if I could. Tooks are a bit wild for Hobbiton. But anything would be better than Lobelia.”

“That harridan?”

~o0o~

It started with a letter inviting them to Tuckborough. Bilbo didn’t think much about it. He was regularly invited to family events in Tuckborough and Buckleburry. He even got the occasional invitation to Michael Delving and South Farthing.

But there was no event listed on this invitation.

Not that things weren’t happening. It was summer and family events occurred constantly. But Bilbo knew something was truly strange when he found himself in a study with his cousin Fortinbras and the Mayor, a hobbit he’d never seen in Tuckborough and rather thought shunned the whole district.

"So you are getting twitchy about the recent increase in orc activity from the east and want to get the Bucklanders and sheriffs some more training," Bilbo said, staring gravely at the Thain and Mayor. "And you're asking me about it instead of the three folk you actually want to do the training?"

Fortinbras has the sense to look a little sheepish while the Mayor looked pleased with himself.

"They are your folk. Your husband and niece and nephew. Well, you're the perfect person to come to."

"It seemed appropriate to bring the idea to you first, cousin," Fortinbras cut in, rolling his eyes. Bilbo had a feeling he'd been talked into this little tete-a-tete and was regretting it mightily. Thorin had been standing right next to Bilbo when he was invited in here. It would have been easy to at least include him…

"Thorin has lived in the Shire almost ten years," Bilbo said dryly. "Kili and Tauriel almost five themselves. They are residents and as much under your command as any other residents. Unless someone has been giving me the wrong impression."

Both authority figures apologetically denied considering the gentlefolk anything but good and worthy neighbors.

"Talk to them if you want their help."

"Bilbo?" Thorin called from the door. "I’m sorry to interrupt, but the Master of Buckland—"

“Gorbadoc, please."

"Gorbadoc brought me the most interesting proposition, and I have a feeling it’s related to this little meeting."

Bilbo chuckled and opened the door despite the Mayor’s silent distress. "Uncle Gorbadoc, thank you for having more sense than these two."

~o0o~

The conversation went well from there. Soon, Bilbo sent a summons for Kili and Tauriel, who greatly added to the discussion. Far more than Bilbo did. But he remained. It was his home and lands being offered for this training center, and a fair bit of his money. Well spent money though.

Bag End would henceforth host a number of young folk from the Took and Brandybuck lines, as well as anyone interested in joining the Sheriffs, all while they trained under those who actually had martial training. The next Fell Winter, Eru forbid such a thing ever happen again, the wolves wouldn't know what hit them. Bilbo was quite pleased with the idea.

He’d helped Thorin get his home back, though the dwarf had not stayed. And now Thorin was helping to protect Bilbo’s home.

“I love you,” he whispered in Thorin’s ear as he shook with all parties to seal the deal.

Everyone was kind enough not to comment on the red hue of Thorin’s cheeks.

~o0o~

Thorin stepped into Bilbo’s study with a serious expression and a letter in his hands.

“Is something wrong?” Bilbo asked, immediately leaping to his feet.

“No, no.” Thorin waved Bilbo back to his seat. “I just received a letter from Adelford Brandybuck.”

Bilbo thought a moment. “Oh, yes, the smith in Buckland you’ve been chatting with.”

“He has a new apprentice, thinks the lad could exceed him in every way.”

“Very exciting.”

“But…” Thorin tapped the folded letter against his let. “He thinks the lad deserves a better teacher.”

“Oh? And he sent a letter… Oh. Well, you’ve never discussed taking an apprentice on.” Bilbo considered the logistics. The halls of his smial were rather full, but he could add another bed to Gandalf’s room, at least until he could have another one or two cut into the hill. He’d been thinking of expanding anyway. “I don’t see why we couldn’t manage.”

Thorin looked distressed.

“If you wanted to, of course. You’re not required, certainly.”

“I…” Thorin frowned. Not an angry frown, though it rather looked similar, but the look he usually got when he was trying to explain something that was as much emotion as anything else. Or purely dwarvish. That also tended to trip him up. “I haven’t taken an apprentice since Fili and Kili.”

“Oh.” Bilbo stood again, this time ignoring Thorin’s gestures and just pressing himself against his husband., wrapping that thick dwarven torso in his hobbit arms.

Thorin was stiff at first, but after a moment he relaxed into Bilbo’s touch. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“You can take your time deciding.”

“I’ve never taken an apprentice sight unseen.”

“So we visit, let you check him out. And you can still say no at any time. We don’t need apprentice fees.” Bilbo chuckled. “We don’t even need the training fees we are getting.” Feeding them all was a nightmare some days, even with the help he’d hired, but Bilbo made good money with his rents and farms and Thorin with his forge. The troll hoard was still hidden away, just in case.

“Perhaps…”

Boots in the hall heralded company, but Bilbo held Thorin close when he tried to step away.

“Oh, we didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Bilbo turned his head to look at Kili, noting Tauriel behind him. “No problem. Just having a moment. How are you two?”

Tauriel paused in the doorway, her hand resting on her belly. “We wanted to… well…”

Kili grinned. “We wanted to warn you we’re going to be a bit less help with the forge and school for a bit.”

Bilbo felt the thundering of Thorin’s heart. 

“Truly?”

“We think so,” Kili said, clasping his wife’s hand.

“It feels right this time,” Tauriel added, her knuckles white around Kili’s fingers. In all their years together, there had been a few signs, but never anything that developed past the first inklings. Bilbo had provided tea and solace on a number of occasions, and Thorin had shared a few tales of Kili beating metal past usefulness at similar times.

Bilbo shared a look with Thorin, then threw his arms around both Kili and Tauriel. “Congratulations! Oh, my dears. This is so exciting.”

~o0o~

“He’s adorable,” Bilbo cooed. Normally he wouldn’t trek all the way to Buckland for a baby naming, not even of a double cousin, but this little doll was a Baggins. And Thorin had gotten free from the forge and school for two weeks to come with, if just because Kili insisted he check out this possible apprentice. Bilbo did love traveling with his husband, nights under the stars, a shared bedroll.

“We’d like you to perform the naming,” Primula said, setting the child in Bilbo’s arms.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Bilbo protested. That was an honor for closest family. Grandparents, closest friends.

“Yes, you could,” Drogo insisted. “He’s half Baggins and half Brandybuck. If anyone in the Shire will understand him, it’ll be you, Uncle Bilbo. That’s who should name him.”

Bilbo felt his cheeks turn red, but he nodded. “Very well. One should cater to overwrought parents.” They both laughed. “So… what are we naming him?”

The couple turned to each other and smiled, then spoke in one voice, “Frodo.”

~o0o~

“And?” Bilbo asked. Thorin had been thinking hard since he came back from visiting Adelford Brandybuck’s forge.

“Smithaz has great potential,” Thorin said slowly, thoughtfully. “And he hasn’t learned too many bad habits yet.”

“And?” Bilbo prompted again.

“We’re running out of room.”

“I’ll commission a few more rooms at the back. There’s some Hill left.”

“I’ve already taken over your life, your smial—”

Bilbo smacked his husband upside the head. “And I love you for every minute of it. Bag End should have people in it. You’ve brought it to life.”

Thorin kissed Bilbo soundly. “Let me know when you start plans for the addition. I’m a little worried the northeast corner of the Hill is a bit unstable.”

“Ah, my dwarf.”

“Akdâmuthrabê.”

~o0o~

Maisy cooed over the delicate scrollwork on the hair clasps Thorin had forged. “These are stunning, Mr. Baggins. Oh, I should have ordered a set for myself.”

As if half the Shire wouldn’t be wearing them after Maisy’s coming of age party. Thorin refrained from rolling his eyes with great effort. “I am glad you like them, Miss Bracegirdle. I’ll have the last finished tomorrow.” He bit his lip a moment before adding, “I could throw in another set in time. I believe you are fond of snowdrops?”

Maisy squealed, that high pitched racket that hobbit faunts were quite adept at when faced with fresh baking. It was not a sound that should come from a female just shy of her majority. Still, her mother smiled both gratefully and ruefully at the blacksmith.

“You are too kind, Mr. Baggins,” Mrs. Bracegirdle said. Thorin racked his brains for the right name, but keeping two straight still confused him a little, even after more than two decades in the Shire, and he often lost track of one or the other. And getting a hobbit’s clan name wrong was a far more grievous crime than speaking too formally.

“My pleasure, Mrs. Bracegirdle.” Thorin smiled and watched both women melt. Bilbo teased him that he could titillate any hobbit with his smile. Thorin preferred to show his hobbit just who he’d prefer to titillate when taunted so, but there was no time for that today. “I do hate to rush you, but I have several orders to finish today if I’m to have every set ready for tomorrow.” Because they’d been grievously late in ordering. Hobbit sense of time was impeccable for meals and harvests but lacking in other places. 

And while Smithaz was skilled with a forge, he had no eye for the small stuff. Kili was skilled with etching, but was still home with Tauriel after the birth of their child.

“Of course. Maisy, could you head over to Chubb’s bakery and check on our order while I help Mr. Baggins wrap these?”

The tween rushed out with a wave goodbye.

“My apologies,” the matron said.

Thorin chuckled and started packing up the silver clasps. “I remember when my nephews were that age.”

“Good memories, I hope.”

“Ah, most of the time,” Thorin said wryly. “But tween lads are tween lads in any race.”

“Too true.” Mrs. Bracegirdle stiffened her spine and Thorin waited patiently though his forge was cooling rapidly. “I was wondering… my son, he’s been expressing a lot of interest in smithing…”

Thorin nodded, mulling the idea of another apprentice.

“I’ve no idea if he’s the aptitude, of course…”

“Well, he could certainly come by and discuss it.” Thorin remembered the lad. He’d been lurking about the forge a lot of late, making friends with Smithaz. “If not with me, there’s a decent hobbit smith in Buckland who might be willing. I did steal away his last apprentice.”

Mrs. Bracegirdle smiled widely. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Baggins. We’d discussed it, but we’d prefer not to send him so far away if we can avoid it.”

“Of course. Bring him by after the party, when things have settled a bit.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Thank you, Mr. Baggins.”

~o0o~

Within a month, Thorin had another apprentice.

Within two years, he had four and a dwarven journeyman.

Five years later, an elf came and begged leave to train for the summer. Thorin got a sour expression on his face, but accepted. Bilbo laughed at his husband for a month.

~o0o~

“Excuse me.”

Thorin looked up from his forge at the deep voice. Men didn’t often come into the depths of the Shire, so he was surprised by the tone. The dark leathers and six pointed star explained it, though.

“How can I help you, Ranger?”

“I believe I may have been given poor directions, Master Dwarf. The youngfolk told me I could find Mr. Baggins here.”

Thorin raised a scorched eyebrow. “Nay, you’ve gotten fine directions. I am Mr. Baggins.”

The ranger frowned. He looked a bit familiar to Thorin, though the dwarf couldn’t place him. Men all looked much the same to him. “I’m sorry. I was told to seek out Mr. Baggins of Bag End.”

Setting aside his hammer, Thorin sighed. “Aye, I am Mr. Baggins of Bag End.”

The ranger coughed, his cheeks looking pinker than the heat of the forge would explain. “I am sorry, Mr. Baggins. I mean no disrespect. But I was under the impression Mr. Baggins was a hobbit.”

Thorin let out a bark of laughter. “Aye, my husband is a hobbit, but he is out of town on family business. I am Thorin Baggins, husband of Bilbo. How can we help the Rangers?”

“Oh for the love of Eru,” the ranger muttered. “Now I place you. I attended your wedding with my father.”

Thorin frowned. A man at the wedding. “Oh, Elrond’s youngest.”

“Aragorn, yes.” Aragorn shook his head. “I should have realized, but Gandalf—“

“Ah,” Thorin said, shaking his head. “That explains everything. What does the storm crow want now?”

~o0o~

Bilbo held Frodo close. Poor lad. Poor lad. No one deserved such a loss. Both his parents at once. But the Brandybucks would do well by him. Far more than Bilbo could.

“You could take him back with you,” Aunt Mirabella said, passing Bilbo a scone. He’d missed tea, tending Frodo, and welcomed the food.

“No. He’d be lost amid the madness of Bag End. At least here he’s got his cousins.” A lad of twelve would get lost between the tweens in training and the baby at Wood’s Rest. “Not to mention you and Uncle Gorbadoc. Goodness, why would I take him from his closest kin?”

“Humph. He’d have kin and friends in Hobbiton too.”

“You’re far closer kin than I. And I’ll not uproot him from the only home he’s known just because an old hobbit would welcome his company.”

“As you will, Bilbo. As you will.”

~o0o~

“Men? Rangers?” Bilbo squeaked. “The Rangers want to train in Hobbiton?”

Aragorn nodded. Thorin had had some time to get used to the idea, waiting for Bilbo to return from Buckland, but Bilbo was simply shocked.

“We’ve space,” Thorin said. They’d added quite a few rooms in the last decade, but not all were filled. “And the experience of working with or against someone of their height would be good for the advanced students.”

Bilbo rubbed his forehead. “Room? We don’t have room. They’ll be banging their heads on the lintels.”

“It won’t hurt them to learn to watch their heads,” Strider said wryly, rubbing his forehead where a fading bruise sat. “Gandalf suggested it would be good to increase interaction between my people and yours.”

“You should be talking to the Thain,” Bilbo muttered, but he looked focused as he rubbed his forehead. 

“The Thain would just send him to you, and you know it,” Thorin said.

Bilbo huffed but nodded. “Maybe we could build something, a wood hall. Someplace men will fit.”

Thorin nodded. “The field by Wood’s Rest, perhaps? We could clear some of the rocks.”

“Might have to call in some dwarrow from Erid Luin,” Bilbo countered. “Kili? It’s your land. We can’t build there without your permission.”

Kili looked at his wife and the two nodded. “We’ve no protest. It’s not like we’re doing anything with it now.”

“It’s still yours,” Bilbo said firmly. 

“And we will always be grateful, Uncle Bilbo,” Tauriel said. “You’re more than welcome to use the land. It’s our training school as well.”

Bilbo nodded. “Well, I suppose we can come to an agreement then.” Even as he expressed excitement, Thorin noticed a sadness in Bilbo’s eyes. It was likely more to do with the loss of his cousins than the arrival of the Rangers, but Thorin worried all the same.

~o0o~

“Frerin,” Lobelia sneered. “Not a very hobbitish name.”

“I thought using family names was very hobbitish,” Tauriel said dryly.

Kili walked past the snooty Sackville-Baggins, adding, “He’s named for my uncle. Quite a respectable name.

“Really, Lobelia,” Bilbo said, stepping in before blades were drawn, “insulting the new parents? That is a new low for you.”

She left the room with a sniff, and Bilbo almost darted after her to save his silver spoons. Thorin caught his arm at the doorway and dragged him back to the fireplace. “I added locks years ago, Akdâmuthrabê.” Thorin stole Frerin from Tauriel and planted the baby in Bilbo’s arms. “Play with your irakdashat and leave her be.”

Bilbo huffed, but tucked Frerin close to his chest. He hadn’t had many chances to hold the new baby, though it was understandable that Frerin’s parents didn’t want to share yet. But Bilbo adored the little half dwarf, half elf, from his delicate little feet to his lightly pointed ears. If his feet were a bit bigger, he could be mistaken for a hobbit baby. At least for now. He’d likely shoot up soon enough, with such tall parents.

“If she takes even one spoon…”

“I’ll make you a new one,” Thorin promised, tugging at Bilbo’s braid.

Kili laughed, and the deep, dwarven laugh was echoed by a higher, lighter sound.

Bilbo looked up, and found dark curls topping blue eyes peering around the doorway. “Frodo?”

The faunt came running in, trailed by his cousin, Meriadoc, and two adult hobbits.

“Who’s this, Uncle Bilbo?” Frodo asked, hands on Bilbo’s knees as he peered up and Frerin.

Bilbo leaned over and let Frodo and Merry get a closer look at Frerin while Thorin and the others greeted Rorimac and Manegida. Bilbo hadn’t been expecting any of his cousins to come by, but he was pleased to see the Brandybucks.

“He’s tiny,” Frodo said, watching wide eyed as Frerin gripped his finger.

“He is. Though he won’t stay that way,” Bilbo said.

“He’s… different,” Merry offered, poking the side of Frerin’s head.

Frodo slapped his cousin’s hand away and gently kissed Frerin’s unhobbitlike straight hair. “Be nice, Merry. All that matters is he’s family.”

“He is,” Bilbo agreed a bubble of warmth in his chest.

~o0o~

“I’m almost surprised you let Frodo leave today,” Thorin said as he and Bilbo prepared for bed. The Brandybucks and one Baggins had stayed a week before returning across the Brandywine. Though it was a wonder Bag End was still standing after a few Took cousins arrived and little Peregrine took up with the other two to cause utter havoc. Thorin had feared even dwarven skill would not be enough to make repairs after the lads got into the practice gear.

“He’s a good lad,” Bilbo said blandly.

“He likes it here,” Thorin prompted.

“He’s best off with his cousins.” Bilbo’s eyes were shiny, like they were filling with tears, but the hobbit made no other sign of distress. “A faunt should grow up surrounded by family.”

Thorin pursed his lips but let it go. It was Bilbo’s decision after all. “Well, I hope he visits again. Though Samwise may never forgive us.” The poor gardener’s son had been utterly scandalized by the behavior of the other faunts and yet was never far from their heels when he could escape his mother.

Bilbo laughed. “He’s welcome any time, and Samwise will miss his playmates more if they don’t come back.”

“And you, gheshevel?” Thorin caught Bilbo about the waist and pulled him close, whispering in one pointed ear. “Will you miss Samwise’s playmates?”

~o0o~

No one who lived there bothered to knock at the door of Bag End and not many of the neighbors bothered to come by. Bilbo was usually too busy when he was home to sit down for tea. There was always a tween rushing through looking for a snack or coming back from training in need of a bath. Better to invite Bilbo out to tea and let everyone relax.

The one exception to the knocking was dwarrow. Not only did they come by in the spring and fall, dwarrow from the Blue Mountains came by off and on through spring and summer. There were usually two or three younger dwarrow in Hobbiton to help with the training or to study with Thorin or Kili.

A surprising number of dwarrow came through to learn archery from an elven trained dwarf.

A loud knock in the door shortly before supper clued Bilbo in to the race of the folk outside. But Bilbo had not expected just who he would find there.

“Balin!” Bilbo threw himself at the old dwarf, demanding a hug. The moment Balin let go, Bilbo threw himself at the other dwarf. “Ori. It’s so good to see you both. Come in.”

He shuffled his guests into the study, out of the way of the myriad students that would soon be trooping in to eat. A quick note on the door told the students to help themselves, warned Thorin they had company, and asked someone to pass word to Kili and Tauriel. Bilbo was happily catching up with his old friends when Thorin finally came in, a tray for four in his hands.

Loud dwarven greetings followed with happy updates in Khuzdul while Bilbo set out supper on his desk. A curly haired head popped in for a moment to report the other Bagginses would be up after their own supper, much to Bilbo’s relief. Not that there wasn’t enough food, thanks to the cooks who were hired to keep the students well fed, but Bilbo didn’t want to cram two more into his study with food. His books were at enough risk now.

Though Balin and Ori were less likely to start a food fight than Dwalin or Bofur.

It wasn’t until Kili and Tauriel arrived, and everyone took some time to coo over little Frerin, drowsing in Ori’s arms, that Balin and Ori finally mentioned why they had visited.

“Moria?” Thorin spat.

“It is our ancestral home, the kingdom of Durin himself.”

“No one can deny that,” Kili said softly. “But why now?”

“Erebor is restored and strong,” Balin said. “Now is the time to strike.”

Thorin shook his head, pacing across the small space. “Erebor may be restored, but our people still have a long way to go to recover from the time of exile.”

“How many children have been born?” Bilbo asked softly. Ori looked mournfully at him, looking betrayed.

“We’ve had an excellent increase in population,” Balin said proudly.

“Children, all,” Kili said, touching Frerin’s cheek. “Will you take their parents from them? I spent the whole of my childhood hearing that our people were diminished, that enough children were not being born, that we were an all but dying people.”

“There are few races that thrive these days,” Tauriel added. “Even men are struggling. Why court war?”

“Because reclaiming our home could do more to help our people, to strengthen them, than anything else,” Ori said proudly. “Reclaiming Erebor brought a boost to every dwarven kingdom. Both in trade and birthrate. If we can do that again….”

Bilbo sighed and caught Thorin by the hand before his pacing could get any more frantic. “I won’t hold you if you want to—”

“No,” Thorin spat. Then he leaned into Bilbo, shivering. “No,” he added more softly. “I’m sorry, Balin. I cannot prevent you from doing this—”

“You most certainly cannot.”

“But I will not help you in this. I have lost too much at the Dimril Dale.” Thorin stepped away from Bilbo and claimed little Frerin from Balin’s lap. Cuddling the lad with his father’s dark hair, the same color as his namesake, Thorin turned sad eyes on Balin. “I cannot face that again. Not for Moria.”

Bilbo considered following as Thorin left, but he knew where he’d find his dwarf and let Thorin have a little time to himself. He tugged on the braid behind his left ear and looked at Kili and Tauriel. They shared a sad look that said much, but Bilbo could not comprehend.

“What about you, laddie?” Balin asked.

“We’ve recruited a few archers from Erid Luin, but you’d be a great addition,” Ori said.

Kili shook his head. “I’ve a young son and a life here. Moria means less to me than Erebor ever did.” He caught Tauriel’s hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

Ori looked sad, and Balin had a stiff glower, but the both nodded as Kili and Tauriel said goodnight.

“Blasted elf,” Balin muttered once the couple were gone.

Bilbo tutted. “That was not Tauriel’s decision. Really, Balin, I’m surprised at you. That you would ever think them inclined to come.”

“Thorin was the driving force behind recovering Erebor. And I’ve more than thirteen dwarrow this time,” Balin said pompously.

“We could do so much good with this,” Ori said softly.

“Perhaps,” Bilbo conceded. “But Thorin has done enough. He has made up for what his father and grandfather lost. As have you, Balin.” He shook his head. “I beg you to let this go. Let another generation reclaim Moria, when your people are stronger and can better bear the losses that will come with the effort.”

“This is the best time,” Balin proclaimed. “With Azog dead, Balog dead, it will be years before the orcs recover.”

“Orcs breed faster than dwarrow,” Bilbo said softly and watched his friends ignore his words yet again. “Well, I’m sorry. Please stay for a few days. Don’t let this sour your visit.” He plastered on a friendly grin. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen you. And you should see how our students are doing. We have an amazing program. Maybe you’ll have some suggestions.”

~o0o~

Balin and Ori stayed a week, walking Hobbiton and checking out the various students. Several of the best were invited to join in their adventure, but none accepted, much to Bilbo’s relief.

There was a dark pall over the visit, despite Bilbo’s desperate attempts to lighten the air and Frerin’s many pratfalls. Nothing could break Thorin’s dark mood. He watched Balin as if he expected the older dwarf to drop dead at any moment.

Bilbo had to admit, he felt the urge to do the same. But Balin and Ori were committed, convinced. And so, after a week, they said goodbye and headed to Bree to meet up with the dwarrow they had recruited from Erid Luin.

“It would have been something to tell others that Thorin Oakenshield was coming with us,” Balin said bitterly as they left.

“Thorin Oakenshield has been dead for decades,” Thorin said. “Thorin Baggins would do little to impress those sworn to you.”

“And Kili Strongbow?” Ori said.

Kili shook his head. “Kili Elflover. No one would follow me.” His knuckles went tight on Tauriel’s hand. 

“That is their loss,” Tauriel said, never wincing. “May the Valar light your path, Balin, Ori. I wish our paths may cross again.”

“Aye. When your child is grown, bring him to Moria, to see what his ancestors were capable of,” Balin said.

“I would like that,” Tauriel replied.

~o0o~

Bilbo watched, heart in his throat, as little Frerin dodged three axes (blunted), two swords (sharp), and seven pairs of feet (three booted, four bare), to arrive at his father’s side.

“Hey now, what are you doing here?” Kili swept up his son and planted the lad on his shoulder.

“Ama sent me,” Frerin lisped, fingers tangling in his father’s braids, hastening their imminent failure. “I want a sister.”

“Well, I’m afraid that’s in the hands of the Valar,” Kili said, dodging around his students to reach the sidelines. “But I’ve told you not to come into the training field. You should have gone to Uncle Bilbo.”

“Ama sent me to you.”

“And Ama wants you safe, so you should have gone to Uncle Bilbo. He would have gotten me, and you wouldn’t have almost been hit by Ansarbrand’s axe.”

Bilbo didn’t start breathing again until the dwarf and half-dwarf were safe out of reach of all weapons. “Don’t do that, little one,” Bilbo scolded, pulling Frerin from Kili’s shoulder and tucking the little body against his waistcoat. “You scared ten years off me.”

“Sorry,” Frerin muttered.

“We’ve spoiled him,” Bilbo muttered.

“Aye,” Kili said, but he looked anything but apologetic. “Well, best go see what Tauriel wants.”

“Frerin!” Tauriel came into the field, a frantic look on her face until she spotted Frerin safe. 

“I found him!” Frerin cried. “Look, Ama, I found Adad.”

“He ran off?” Kili finally looked distressed.

“He ran off,” Tauriel growled once she was close. “Never do that again.” She took him from Bilbo and held him close.

“Sorry.”

“How was your appointment?” Bilbo asked. Enough of Frerin’s errors. Best to yell at him later when he wasn’t enjoying the cuddles.

Tauriel beamed. “I’m pregnant.”

Kili all but threw himself at his wife, and if she were not so tall they’d have gone down in a heap. “Gheshevel. Le channon. Le channon.”

Bilbo took Frerin and let the couple kiss the way they clearly wanted to.

“I want a sister,” Frerin reiterated. He poked Bilbo in the shoulder. “If they’re gonna be icky, I want a sister.”

Laughing, Bilbo carried Frerin up the road toward Hobbiton. He’d go visit Thorin and tell him the good news, let the happy couple celebrate. Sarradoc could manage the training class on his own for a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> My Khuzdul is appalling, but if I did it right, this is basically titled the Great Smith and the Gentlehobbit.


End file.
